


Mine

by tolieawake



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: 5 + 1, M/M, Nick's Captain, One Shot, Sean Renard is a possessive bastard, Sean's Grimm, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 01:39:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6218552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolieawake/pseuds/tolieawake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for:<br/>Five times Renard claimed ownership of Nick...<br/>... and one time Nick claimed ownership back.</p>
<p>(prompt found on the grimm kink meme - yes, that old thing)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine

 

 

1.

 

The form lies, innocuous, before him. Reaching out, he picks up the pen – fountain, black ink that slides like silk from the nib – and elegantly scrawls his signature across the bottom.

 

Placing the pen back on his desk, he leans back, letting a gentle smirk cross his lips. Detective Nick Burkhardt would be transferred to his precinct. Under his command. It was all there – in black and white.

 

Renard's signature claiming the Detective for his own.

 

 

 

2.

 

Police lights cast the entire area in a wash of blue and red, faces transforming under their glare into something almost otherworldly. Detective Burkhardt sits on the curbside, a large bruise already forming along his right cheekbone.

 

Striding through the uniformed officers, paramedics and angry detectives, Captain Renard comes to a stop before the latest edition to his command.

 

“Burkhardt,” he says.

 

The detective looks up at him, eyes slightly hooded with weariness. “Sir,” he says, pushing his hand against the curb in order to lever himself upright.

 

Reaching out, Renard places his hand on the detective's shoulder, halting his movement. “Sit,” he says. His eyes rove over the bruised face, take in the rumpled clothing, a tear in the shirt showing a hint of collarbone, the reddened knuckles. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

 

Burkhardt laughs. “Like I got punched in the face,” he says.

 

Renard fights back the smile that tugs at his lips. “I see,” he replies. “You did good.”

 

There is a commotion behind him and he turns, jerking his head to indicate to the hovering paramedic to move in and assess the detective, before stalking over to where an irate politician is trying to get past some of the uniforms.

 

As he moves, Renard feels his people closing ranks behind him, positioning themselves between the politician and the slightly battered detective currently trying to fend off the paramedic's inspection of his injuries.

 

“I demand to speak to whichever imbecile has the stupidity to accuse _my son_ of -” the politician is ranting.

 

“ _My_ Detective,” Renard cuts in, letting his gaze harden with icy resolve and barely constrained disdain as he meets the councilman's eyes. The councilman swallows.

 

“Your detective?” he asks.

 

“Yes. _My_ Detective,” Renard replies. “So, if you have any issues you may take them up with me. As _my_ detective, all his actions were sanctioned and supported by _me_.”

 

The councilman looks far less sure of himself, shifting in place. “My son would never -” he began.

 

Renard cuts him off. “ _My_ Detective,” he says, “is neither a fool, nor a liar. I suggest you contact your lawyer.” Turning sharply on his heel, he strides away, motioning for the uniforms to remove the gaping councilman.

 

 

 

3.

 

“It's too dangerous,” Adalind says, face creased into a frown as she paces before him. Renard considers her, silent. “A lone Grimm – we may as well kill ourselves to save him the hunt. It is long past the time that Grimms, of any kind, could be tolerated,” she adds. “His kind are killers. We cannot let him live.”

 

Suppressing the anger that quickly rises in response to her, admittedly very valid, observations, Renard steps forward, forcing her to halt her pacing.

 

“The Grimm is mine,” he says.

 

Adalind frowns, mouth parting in shock. “Grimm's don't belong to anyone,” she says. “Not anymore.”

 

“This one does.”

 

 

 

4.

 

The call comes through in the evening, as he is standing before his windows, looking out at his city.

 

“'Next time, send your best'?” the voice is incredulous.

 

Renard raises an eyebrow, but declines to comment, simply waiting. The leader of the Reapers is not known to be particularly patient.

 

“You have gone too far, this time,” he snaps.

 

“This is _my_ Canton,” Renard replies, eyes passing possessively over the view outside his windows. “They were neither welcomed nor granted leave to be or hunt here.”

 

“Reapers do not answer to -”

 

“ _My_ Canton,” Renard replies. “ _My_ rules.” He pauses, a satisfied grin sliding across his lips. “ _My_ Grimm,” he adds. “And yes, next time, do send your best.” He hangs up before the Lead Reaper can reply, sliding his phone into his pocket as he allows his grin to change into a smile.

 

If he had known about the Reapers, he would have been happy to demonstrate for them just why entering his Canton without his permission – especially with the aim to hunt there – was a bad idea. However, with the knowledge that Nick was able to quite effectively convey that message to them, he isn't particularly upset about not getting the chance to do so himself.

 

“ _My_ Grimm,” he repeats, staring down at his city.

 

 

 

5.

 

Smoke fills the air around them, clogging the rooms, making it hard to see or breath. Coughing to his right indicates Nick's position, and Sean moves towards him, reaching out to grasp his detective, and Grimm's, arm.

 

They crouch down to the floor, crawling forward beneath the clouds of smoke and towards the doorway leading back outside. The rapid start and spread of the fire had been unexpected.

 

Rolling outside, they get far enough away from the building to stand upright. It buts up against the edge of the forest, the silence in the trees suggesting they are not the only ones out there.

 

“They were expecting us,” Nick says, removing his gun and holding it ready, pointed towards the ground.

 

Sean nods. “Agreed,” he says.

 

They move through the forest silently, watching around them. Nick pauses, hearing something, before indicating Sean forward. They work as a team, hyper aware of the other's position at all times.

 

The clearing they enter is filled with wesen. Some of those Sean recognises – ones he has had banned from his Canton, or punished for their crimes. He scowls.

 

“You are not welcome here,” Sean declares, glaring around at them. “Your crimes have seen you banished. -”

 

“We are here by order of your family,” a schakal replies, scowling at him. “They have given permission for us to enter your Canton in order to the remove the Grimm.” He smiles, full of teeth. “They are concerned for your well-being. It is not good to have a free Grimm in your lands.”

 

Sean scowls. “He is _my_ Grimm,” he replies. “ And this _my_ Canton. _My_ rules stand uncontested here, not those of my family, nor any other group. You have two choices. Leave. Or face justice.”

 

He is not surprised when they choose the latter. Nor when, minutes later, he and Nick are standing back-to-back, surveying the broken bodies of the wesen who dared think they could try to take Sean's Grimm from him.

 

 

 

+1

 

“He is ours,” the Reaper snarls, mouth pulled back in an ugly, teeth-filled sneer. “He has challenged and thwarted us one too many times. Under Reaper decree, his life is forfeit.”

 

“Bastard though he is,” comes the reply, “he _is_ of Royal blood. That makes him our problem to deal with, not yours.” The way Sean's oh-so-loving family member runs his fingers along the barrel of his gun clearly indicates his own desire to end Sean Renard's life.

 

“Correction,” Nick declares, striding into the room. “He's _mine_.” The Grimm is holding his kanabo in one hand, his crossbow in the other. His eyes are dark and a palpable sense of menace flows out from him to flood the room.

 

Sean is chained in the middle of the floor, Reapers on one side, Royals on the other. Each group eager and ready to dish out the punishment they believe he deserves for defying them. Had both groups not accidentally attacked him at the same time, Sean would have been able to ward off his attackers.

 

There is a moment's pause as each group sizes up the Grimm. He is an anomaly, something they don't understand. He doesn't follow the way of his ancestors, instead following the commands of a bastard Royal. He is rumoured to be friends with wesen (including said bastard Royal), and to be quite capable of taking care of himself. The tale of the two reaper's heads sent home in a box has become legendary.

 

They decide to attack.

 

Nick moves swiftly and efficiently. There is no doubt he is a Grimm. Within moments, there are only two people left alive in the room.

 

Dropping to his knees beside Sean, Nick looks him over.

 

“I'm yours, am I?” Sean asks, a crack in his bottom lip splitting open as he smiles at Nick.

 

“You are,” Nick agrees, keen eyes sweeping over Sean's chains, looking for a way to untie him. “You know,” he says, leaning in until they are breathing the same air, lips almost touching, “maybe I should leave these on.” His hand wanders over the chains, giving a gentle tug. “Might make things interesting.” Shifting forward, Nick lets his lips meet Sean's. Despite his words, his kiss is gentle, kind. The passion he feels pushed down until a more appropriate moment.

 

Instead, he simply claims Sean's mouth with his own. In a moment, he'll need to call it in, let the others know he has found their Captain.

 

“Sir,” he says, head dipping in submission, tilted to the side so his throat is bared, before letting his lips claim his Captain's once more.

 

 


End file.
